


a love like that lights the whole sky

by WritersBlock109



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: ANGSTY ANGST ANGST, Angst, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Mentions of Cancer, amputee fic, amputee scott, dance teacher tessa, night janitor scott, ryan is in this fair warning, sorry for hurting u in advance, tags will be updated with coming chapters stay tuned, teacher/janitor, tessa is in a very unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-09-20 03:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17015088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritersBlock109/pseuds/WritersBlock109
Summary: "You’d think it would get easier, over time. To deal with pain."or;a dance teacher/night janitor AU with two broken people, two mundane lives, and one epic love storytags update regularly





	1. tonight i'm going to need you to love me a little louder

**Author's Note:**

> ah, rpf. here we are. it's been 9 months down the virtuemoir rabbithole, so honestly its a miracle it took me this long to get over my writersblock (pun intended). it's my first time writing in a long while so leave me comments! special shout out to g, becca, and the gc for encouraging my bullshit, i'm forever grateful. i don't honestly know where I got this idea but it came to me and I felt strongly about it, so cheers and enjoy! xx
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. tessa if you're reading i was hacked

Tessa had thought that her degree in dance wouldn’t earn her much. She wouldn’t earn money, she wouldn’t earn success, she wouldn’t earn a sense of purpose or belonging or stability.

She proved herself wrong every day. 

Every day, at precisely 7:30, she arrived at Ilderton High to an empty classroom and untapped potential. Every day, day after day, for 30 minutes, she worked out lesson plans for each of her 6 classes, finalizing choreography during the calm before the storm. 

The steady trickle of bone-tired, caffeine-laced students begun at 7:50, and stopped precisely at 8:01, as Miss Virtue was a known stickler about lateness. Dance was a class and would be taken seriously by her students. 

Every day, they surprised her. Every day, day after day, they proved that every minute of her useless degree was worthwhile. They simply loved what they did, and she loved them. 

Her life revolved around her students. The constant planning of something bigger and better to showcase their talents invigorated her and gave her meaning. 

Every day she stayed at school until dusk to avoid going home. Every day, day after day, she went home to a quiet house, the stench of her boyfriend’s disgusting beer and snacks wafting to greet her. If she was quiet enough, she could avoid waking him. If she was quiet enough, he wouldn’t drunkenly paw at her, asking for more than she had to give. If she was quiet enough, she could pretend she was happy. 

\---

You’d think it would get easier, over time. To deal with pain. 

There were these phantoms Scott could not escape. Phantoms of his career, his success, of a promise. Of the intangible, ever-fleeting could-have-been. 

He had one great phantom, one everpresent curse. You’d think it would get easier, over time. To deal with the pain. To coexist with the frayed edges of the live nerve-wires severed just below his left calf. To know that his sensation of a limb was different than the perception of blank space where a leg should have been. 

His leg was gone. But the phantom remained.

\---  
_“I saw the constellations reveal themselves, one star at time,”_ Gord Downie’s gritty voice crooned over the loudspeaker, filling the room with a nostalgic, mystic air. He had a gift, Tessa thought, of drowning a person in a moment. It was that exact air that Tessa hoped to capture in her choreography. She wanted to tranfix the audience, to not let them look away, even for a moment. 

_“Yeah, the sky is dull and hypothetical, and fallin’ one cloud at a time.”_ Tessa let the music possess her, the effortless transduction of music to movement that came to her so naturally. 

Gord led her in the dance, pushing her out and pulling her in, tingling the hairs on her skin, entrancing her. He moved her, starting from her temples and down her neck, scraping down her chest, and down, down, down, to the tips of her toes. She belonged to him.

Scott peered in through the window, spellbound. He marveled in the Arcadian beauty of her self-intimacy. She threw herself into the dance with such abandon it awed him. 

As the song finished her forehead glistened with sweat, and her chest rose and fell. He noticed the way her throat hollowed with breath, the way her collarbones protruded from her defined, muscular shoulders, the curve of her body. A Marian apparition had materialized in front of him, and all he could do was stare in veneration. 

A hush settled over the atmosphere, and Scott kept staring. She danced without music, analyzing her own movements in the mirrored wall of the studio. And she saw him. 

Their eyes met in the mirror and he fell. 

...Into a trashcan. In his haste to escape his embarrassment, Scott tripped on his janitorial equipment, smacking his head into the side of his trash can and landing with a resounding thump on the wooden floor. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Tessa rushed to his aid, helping him to his feet. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. You were just so...so…” Scott trailed off. 

Tessa raised her eyebrows, unamused but curious. 

“Well...you know.” Scott scratched his jaw nervously. 

Tessa cocked her head, her high ponytail lagging behind her. 

Scott cleared his throat. 

“I’m Scott. The night janitor.” He extended his hand tentatively. 

“Tessa Virtue. Dance teacher.” Tessa bridged the gap between them, slotting her palm against his. 

“I know.” He didn’t let go. 

They were opposites, their hands. His bore the reflection of labor, the hams of his muscular hands lined with pebbled callouses. The veins of his hands protruded from the surface of his rutted skin like the imperfections of tree bark. Hers, however, bore no such faults. The leather of her skin ran smooth as a rose petal. One could run a finger down her hand unobstructed by flaws nor wear. 

And yet-and yet, they fit. 

“So, the Hip, eh?” Scott cut through the thick silence, releasing her hand. 

“Yeah, they were my first concert, actually. All the way back in 1996,” Tessa smiled at the memory. 

“Hey, me too! Toronto-’96. They were touring uh, what was it-Trouble in the Henhouse,” Scott returned her nostalgia in kind.

“Yeah-that’s the concert I was at!” Tessa smiled in delighted surprise. 

“What a coincidence, eh?” Scott said, delighted. “Crazy. So many years ago.” 

Tessa’s stomach interrupted them, grumbling low and indignant. 

“Oh my god, excuse me,” Tessa’s cheeks flushed in mortification.

“Miss Virtue-” Scott started

“Please, call me Tessa,” Tessa interrupted him.

“Tessa,” Scott nodded in confirmation and grinned at the informality of the name. Tessa found she liked her name on his lips. 

“Tessa, tell me you’ve eaten already,” Scott cocked his head in concern.

Tessa looked away. 

“It’s almost 9, Tessa!” Scott said, exasperated. 

 

Scott furrowed his brows. All of a sudden, a conniving smile spread upon his countenance. 

“Do you like chocolate?” 

Tessa looked up in surprise. She returned his grin in full. 

“Yes.”

—-

Tessa’s laugh was big. It filled her, it filled the room, and it filled Scott. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, the burst of unbridled joy tumbling from her lips. He could make her laugh forever, just to hear the sound again and again and again. 

A comfortable silence settled over them as they filled their mouths with the sticky sweet substance. The massive can of pudding lay between them, br. 

Tessa had been nervous at first, breaking into the cafeteria late at night to steal a vat of pudding. 

And yet- and yet, there was something about him. 

Maybe it was his scrunchy smile, quite possibly the mischievous glint in his eye. Maybe it was that she sensed something more, beneath his bright and jolly demeanor. There was a melancholia behind his smile. 

They had been talking over pudding for an hour and a half now, about everything from the weather to their best childhood memories. It was a rarity, to hold Tessa in a conversation for more than a few minutes. She was simply shy, and awkward. 

And yet-and yet, he made her feel safe, and comfortable, and heard. 

 

“You’ve got a little-” Scott gestured to his own mouth where Tessa’s was lined with pudding. 

“Oh, sorry,” Tessa moved to wipe it away and missed the spot. 

“No just-here, let me,” Scott leaned in close and swiped his thumb over the corner of Tessa’s mouth.

Close. They were so close. Their breaths mingled together. Her nerves prickled at the sensation of their utter proximity. His thumb lingered languidly just under her chin. So close.

It terrified her, how easy he was. How he made ephemeral moments last and last and last. How he looked into her eyes like he understood her. Like he knew. 

“...I should go,” Tess whispered, into the thin space between them. 

“Right.” Scott cleared his throat. The chasm widened again between them, but this time-this time, it wasn’t as daunting. It was bridgeable now. 

“It was nice to meet you, Scott. I-I hope we can do this again, maybe.” Tessa stood to walk away. 

“Goodnight, Tessa.” 

“Goodnight, Scott.” 

The vat of pudding was half-finished, but something new-something just as sweet-had just begun. Scott chuckled to himself softly as he cleaned up the mess they’d made. Together.


	2. i remember it all too well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been a while. exams, sorry. and the holidays. but this is a long one so be happy. unbeta-ed, still looking for a beta. dm me on twitter @tessasabs or tumblr @tessas-abs if you'd care to beta! enjoy! happy new year!

Scott floated through the next 24 hours on a cloud of adorable zealousness. He danced through the rest of the night shift and into the next day, one person and one person only on his mind. 

_Tessa._

There was something in her eyes, in her laugh, in the way she moved. Entrancing. Even her name sounded like a sinful siren song designed specifically for him, drawing him into the depths of the sea in spite of all his inhibitions, of all his carefully erected emotional walls. A name to drown in. 

_Tessa Virtue._

Her name was on his mind as he drifted off into a tranquil, euphoric rest. Her name was on his mind as he awoke the next morning, alert and dreamily elated. Her name was on his mind as he drove to the farmer’s market in his old Ford pickup, the Tragically Hip playing on the old stereo.

He wove through the vegetables, making smalltalk with the vendors who frequented the market as often as he himself did. He loaded up on the latest gossip between vendors, listened to their gripes, and wished them well. 

1 large red onion, 2 ribs of celery. 1 large green-peppin? Scott squinted down at his mother’s muddled scrawl, the thin paper blotched with stains of meals and memories. 

Alma was known throughout Ilderton for her culinary prowess, as Scott could attest to with the firsthand experience of growing up inside her household. Whenever he was at his parents’ house, he was treated to a delectable home-cooked meal, satisfying his stomach and his soul. 

Chicken cacciatore was one of his favorite of Alma’s dishes growing up, so it was one of the many he’d learned to create on his own.

The smell of fresh produce wafted into his nose and he smiled nostalgically. 

—-

_21 years ago_

“Fresh produce, Scotty. Never canned. Remember that,” Alma said, emphasizing her point by brandishing the celery stalk at her youngest son. 

“Yes, mom,” Scott said in a childish tone, merely placating his mother. 

He didn’t want to be here. The farmer’s market was swarming with people, all of them at least 40 years his senior. He was dressed in the nice button up and khakis his mother had placed him in rather than his preferred ratty t-shirt and shorts. Worst of all, it was a Sunday morning, and rather than playing with his friends or even practicing hockey, he was stuck at the farmer’s market with his mother. 

He dragged his feet to every stall they stopped at, constantly tugging at his mother’s skirt. 

“Mom,” Scott whined, prodding his mother’s hip. “I wanna go home.” 

“Patience is a virtue, Scotty,” Alma continued her purchases, choosing not to indulge the boy in his antics. 

“But I wanna play,” Scott complained, sticking his hands in his pockets in frustration. 

“Well, do you want your chicken cacciatore or do you want to play?” Alma looked down at her son, eyes meeting matching eyes. 

“...the chicken cacciatore,” Scott grumbled, looking down in defeat. 

“That’s what I thought. And what do we need for chicken cacciatore?” Alma questioned her son, crossing her arms and quirking her eyebrow. 

“Fresh produce, never canned,” Scott mumbled, a pout forming on his face. 

“That’s my boy.” Alma ruffled his hair and reached for his hand. 

Scott placed his little hand in hers and walked on through the stalls. 

—-

_10 years ago_

“They’re not feeding you enough, Scotty. Look at you, you’re practically sinew and bone,” Alma fretted over her son, cupping his face. 

“They’re feeding me fine, mommy,” Scott smiled up at his mother from the hospital bed. 

“I brought you chicken cacciatore,” Alma said, reaching into her bag and procuring a massive tupperware filled to the brim with food. 

“Oh, ma, you didn’t have to-“ Scott started. 

“I did, I did. You’re a growing boy. You need meat.” Alma said, serving him a plate. 

“I’m 20, ma, not 8,” Scott rolled his eyes. 

“You’re still my baby,” Alma said, tears forming in her eyes. 

Scott reached over, gripping onto her forearm. 

“Thank you, mom,” he said, rubbing her forearm. 

Alma nodded and bent to kiss his bald head, running her hand along his temple, coming to cup his cheek. 

“My baby boy,” Alma whispered to him, pressing her lips to his head. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, ma,” Scott said, blinking tears out of his own eyes. “I love chicken cacciatore, too.” 

“Nothing could get ever between you and your chicken cacciatore,” Alma laughed, serving a plate. “Not even all of this,” she gestured to the IVs and machines surrounding him, suffocating him in artificial health.

“If anything, cancer made me hungrier, eh?” Scott laughed darkly. 

Alma winced at the mention of his illness. 

Scott bowed his head in shame and reached for the plate to his left, scarfing down his food in silence. 

“It’s delicious, ma. Did you add something special this time?” Scott asked, looking up gingerly, testing the tense waters. 

“Nope, just as it’s always been, the same old secret,” Alma responded with a smile. 

“Fresh produce, never canned,” they said in unison, chuckling at the same time. 

It would all be alright, he decided. Even when he was laced with lethal chemicals, he could make his mother smile. Even as the hair vanished from his head, he laughed. Even in this cold, empty hospital room, he was warm and loved. 

He wished he could go back and walk with her the farmer’s market, hold her hand once more. 

He wished the pain would stop.  
\---

_Present Day_

“I’d give anything to make you mine o’mine,” Scott belted, sending John Michael Montgomery lyrics into the sauce-covered wooden spoon he was using as a microphone. He danced around his kitchen in the carefree sort of way people do when no one is watching-with blissful abandon. 

Two raps on his door brought him down from his jovial euphoria. He turned the music down and answered to find his brother standing with a six-pack of Molson. 

“What’s got you so chipper, Scotty?” Danny followed him back into the house, setting the Molson on the counter and flopping on the couch in front of the ancient TV. 

“Nothing,” Scotty said, humming along to the muted music and resuming his cooking. 

Danny sniffed the air curiously. He turned to look at Scott. 

“Is-is that chicken cacciatore? Mom’s recipe?” Danny asked. 

“Yeah, so?” Scott replied, adding a touch of oregano and tasting the dish. 

“What’s the special occasion? You got a hot date coming over or what?” Danny laughed. 

Scott seasoned in silence. Danny gaped, the realization dawning on him.

“You do, don’t you? Well I’ll be fucked. Scotty’s got a date!” Danny opened a beer and took a long sip. “It’s about time you found yourself a girl. Tessa and I were getting worried about you.” 

“Tessa?” Scott looked up eagerly.

“...My wife? Tessa? Earth to Scotty.” Danny waved his hand to signal him to snap out of it. 

“Oh.” Scott resumed humming distractedly, setting the spaghetti to boil. 

“So who is she?” Danny probed. 

“It’s not a date. I’m bringing her dinner, is all,” Scott clarified, throwing a kitchen towel over his shoulder. “Taste this, will you?” 

“Didn’t answer my question,” Danny said, rising to his feet. He lightly sunk his pinky into the mixture and tasted the mixture. “It’s good.” 

“Good okay or good good?” Scott said, folding his arms. 

“It’s _fine_ , Scotty.” Danny said.

“Just fine?”

“Holy shit, what, do you want me to jump for joy? It’s good. Good good.” Danny rolled his eyes and leaned back on the counter. 

“It doesn’t need anything or-” 

“No, Scotty, Jesus Christ. It tastes good. She’ll like it.” Danny put a hand gently on his brother’s shoulder, grounding him. “Who is this girl anyway who’s got you all worked up?” 

“She’s the dance teacher at the school. We met last night and just...talked, for hours. I don’t know, man-there’s something about this girl. She makes sense to me, you know? Like no one has before.” Scott wrung his hands. 

“That’s a lot of feelings after one night,” Danny said. 

“Yeah, but when you know, you know-you know?” Scott said. 

“Be careful, Scotty. That’s all I’m saying.” Danny took a long sip of his Molson. “So what’s her name?”

“Her name is Tessa.” 

Danny spat his Molson all over Scott and balked. Scott grimaced at the spit and beer lining his face, and wiped his face. 

“Well ain’t that something, eh? Tessa won’t believe this,” Danny said, wiping his mouth from his spittake. “My Tessa, that is.” 

“So what, is she coming over? I thought we were watching the game tonight,” Danny continued. 

“Well, she was at school till 9 last night when we met, and she hadn’t eaten. I guess I was just hoping...it would be the same tonight,” Scott furrowed his brow. 

“You didn’t get her number? Do you even know if she eats meat?” Danny asked.

“Well...no?” Scott wrung his hands nervously. “What if she’s a vegetarian? Shit, Danny!” 

“Calm down. You stay here and finish the pasta. I’ll run to The King Edward and get some crabcakes. You got drinks?” Danny grabbed his keys and jacket from where they were strewn. 

Scott’s bashful gaze spoke for him. 

“What would you do without me?” Danny sighed. “I’ll grab wine.” 

“Thanks, Dan,” Scott said. “Really.” 

“Anything for love, Scotty. Anything for love.” 

\---

Scott walked straight to the dance room, dinner basket in hand and a soppy smile plastered on his face. Bobcaygeon dissipated into the hallways, reaching him at a whisper and growing steadily stronger with each step. 

As he rounded the corner he found himself walking toward a tall, built man carrying a brown paper bag. He smiled and nodded politely as they drew closer toward the center of the hallway. 

They reached the dance classroom at the same time, stopping in front of the door to size each other up. 

“Please, go ahead,” Scott gestured to the door. 

The man said nothing, throwing open the door and not holding it open for Scott to move through. 

“Hey, baby,” the man called out to Tessa, who turned off the music, then turned to face them. “Brought you dinner.” 

He held up the brown paper bag and pulled her into a kiss. She pulled away quickly, turning to look at Scott, who waited sentinel-like in the doorway. He hid the basket behind his back and stared at his shoes. 

“Scott.” Tessa addressed him, adjusting her messy bun and wiping sweat from her forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“I-nothing. Just saw your light on.” Scott smiled as his heart tumbled to the floor. He gripped the basket handle so hard his knuckles turned white. He had flown too close to the sun, it seemed, and the burn was excruciating. 

“Oh,” Tessa nodded. 

“I’m Ryan,” the man interrupted, tightening his grip on Tessa’s waist. 

“Scott, this is my boyfriend, Ryan,” Tessa glanced overtly at Ryan. “Ryan, this is Scott, the night janitor.” 

“Nice to meet you, bro,” Ryan said with a nod. 

“You too,” Scott nodded in return. 

“Is that...for me?” Tessa gestured toward the basket Scott held in a death grip. 

“No, it’s-it’s mine. I was going to eat dinner...in...the cafeteria. Thought you might join me, is all,” Scott fumbled over his words, staring at Ryan’s hand resting possessively on Tessa’s waist. “I see you’re taken. For dinner, that is.” 

Tessa gazed upon him intently, her green eyes unreadable. The classroom lights flickered. All three of them looked up the ceiling. 

“Just a brownout,” Ryan said, stating the obvious. 

“I’m going to go check the circuit board. It was good to see you, Tess. And nice to meet you, Ryan,” Scott backed out of the room without waiting for a response; he strode from the room as quickly as he could, needing to be anywhere, anywhere else. 

Scott landed in the circuit room closet, eating chicken cacciatore on the floor and swigging wine straight from the bottle. 

Anything for love, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell at me on twitter @tessasabs or tumblr @tessas-abs
> 
> chapter title comes from taylor swift's all too well cause im an emo hoe
> 
> leave a comment if u felt sumn i love validation and constructive criticism

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if u felt anything in particular
> 
> twitter: @tessasabs  
> tumblr: @tessas-abs


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